light that caressed and embraced her, waving around her shoulders and
falling almost to her waist. Her eyes. When he came close, he saw that
they were not coal-black at all, but so deeply colored in the near
darkness that they appeared to be a rich and hypnotic purple.
He held still. He watched her and tried to find the fight words, the
words that would get her to leave. She would hate him for humiliating
and rejecting her, but maybe that would be better than what he wanted.
To own her, to have all of her, to teach her everything she wanted to
know so thoroughly that she would forget everything but the feel of him
beside her.
'Come here then,' he said hoarsely.
She still seemed to pause. Like a sprite, like a night witch or angel,
he knew not which. A rueful curve came to her lips, and she said softly,
'Jamie?'
'What?'
'Where did you take your bath?'
He smiled, too.
'At the livery stables. Not at the saloon.'
'Thank you,' she murmured, then she took a step toward him, and another
step, and she was in his arms.
His mouth closed upon hers, and he let his hands wander where they
would. He had tried to do the decent thing. And it hadn't worked. So
now. She was fragrant, like a drug. He breathed in the scent of her hair
and the scent of her flesh. He kissed her lips and her earlobe, and he
pressed his tongue against the surge of her pulse at her throat, and he
took her lips again, savoring the caress of her tongue, feeling the rise
of heat and need and the rampant beat in his loins as the thrusts of
their tongues became ever more erotic and telling. He stroked her body
through the flannel, caressing her breast, finding the peak and
massaging it to a hard pebble with his thumb and fingers. Then he cried
out and lowered his mouth upon her, his teeth grazing the fullness of
her breast and the hard peak through the fabric, the dampness of his
mouth pervading it and bringing whispers and whimpers to her lips.
She braced herself upon his shoulders, and cried out, falling against
him.
Trembling, he lifted her and set her on the cocoon of sheet and quilt in
the hay. Then he stood over her, watching her. He ripped away the
kerchief at his throat and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He
watched her all the while, but her eyes did not close. He threw his
shirt upon the hay, and pulled off his boots and socks, unbuckled his
gun belt and then his pants belt and finally peeled away the last of his
clothing. Her eyes closed at last, but not before her cheeks had taken
on a dusky hue.
'You can still run,' he told her harshly.
She shook her head. Her hair lay spread across the quilt and sheet and
dangled into the hay around them. He knelt before 'her and set his hand
upon the hem of her gown, pushing it up.
She had beautiful feet. Small, the toenails neatly manicured. Her ankles
were trim. Her calves were shapely.
